Chapter 7: Dust and Dreams

They took the road south out of Wasco and a mile later it met highway 97. The highway was in decent shape, but there were drifts of blown sand and dust here and there as they rode down the length of it. The sand piles were treated with caution. Something had to have caused the sand to collect there, one thing that could have done it was a break in the pavement. Something none of them wanted their horses or mules to discover.

Their route was fairly straight and exposed for the first four or five miles, but by mid-afternoon though they were descending down into Gordon Hollow and the ghost town of DeMoss Springs. They didn't stop, barely even slowed to see what was there, but from here the road was again nestled within gentle canyon slopes and slightly less exposed. The highway also curved west some until they were headed more southwest than true south.

It was another four miles to Moro, and the group broke up into small clusters, not separated by more than a couple horse lengths except for Huck Scales who was riding a scouting point to their formation, staying a good half mile in front of the rest of them, looking for trouble.

John Cantor rode sweep, keeping an experienced eye and ear trained on their rear for any pursuers. Taegan rode with Jenna and Birdie. The two women were making honest efforts to comfort Taegan, who was having a hard time dealing with his twin's betrayal.

"Brother or not, twin or not," Birdie said to him, "no man should shoulder the guilt for another man's actions."

"Nor the blame," Jenna added.

"He told me I was the reason he chose the Denied," Taegan reminded them.

"Because he was jealous?" Jenna spat. "Another man's jealousy is never your fault!"

"Brothers have been gettin' jealous of each other since Cain and Abel," Birdie reminded him. "You're no extreme case."

"You're no case at all," Jenna said. "What have you done, that hasn't included him? What would make him so jealous?"

"Other than winning your heart?" Taegan asked.

From behind her blush, Jenna argued, "that's too recent, it couldn't be the root of it."

"True, but I enjoyed saying it," Taegan said, blushing himself. "He said he always felt things were easier for me, that people accepted me more readily. I don't know if that's true or not. I always saw us as a package deal."

"No, it was true," Jenna confessed. "You were always the bright, happy brother. You were always more approachable. Conway was always more serious. The brooding one."

"I dread telling my parents."

"I..." Birdie started to say, then stopped, shaking her head.

"What?" Taegan and Jenna asked together.

"Its not my place to say, really, but my ghost man has a radio, and he had yer grandpa using it this mornin' in the wee hours. I think he was callin' t' home to pass the word along. Yer his eldest son's boy?"

"Yeah, William Kendall is our father."

"Ya might want to be practicin' saying my rather than our from now on, if Conway Kendall is t'be seen as a traitor to the people of Columbia," Birdie observed.

"That's not going to be easy," Taegan said, growing close to tears again.

"You're not alone in this, just remember that," Jenna said.

Able Hobson's back still stung from the lashing he had been given in the meeting room at the Broken Wheel. His ears stung worse from the tongue lashing the Reverend had given him in private. The public lashing had been less severe than it could have been. Able knew that the reverend was displeased, but didn't really blame him directly for their target's miraculous escape.

The figure of Conway Kendall standing before him went a long way to soothe both stings, but the fact that the young fool had no idea where the Denier had planned for them to go caused another pain to rumble up from his gut.

"You mean to say you were finally in a position to find out what the Denier's plans were, and you couldn't wait?"

"I was afraid that we would be out of range if I waited, and I had his position, and he was with a small group, ripe for attack. How was I to know my damned brother would wake in the night and catch me?"

Elder Hobson backhanded the boy then, slapping him backwards and almost into the campfire. He took three quick steps to where the young man lay in the dust and leaned over to yell into his face. "You were incautious! Such weak-minded behavior will not keep you alive long in our ranks, especially not with the name you carry, boy."

"The Reverend wants me alive."

"That he does," Elder Hobson said coldly, "and that is the only thing that is keeping you alive at this moment. Now get up and tell me again what you saw while you were together." The Elder held out a hand to the young man, pulling him to his feet. "Asa, bring the map. They're going somewhere, and they came here for a reason. We will figure this out."

Kent had proved to be a surprise for Cooper and Dante. The ghost town had been visited by someone, or someones, and they had left gifts. The most peculiar of which was the fifty caliber machine gun that had been mounted in the old church steeple. Almost as interesting was the stack of boxes they discovered filled with claymore mines.

It appeared as if someone had begun preparing Kent to repulse an attack. Perhaps the same someone who had brought them there.

There were several sacks filled with hand grenades beside the boxes of mines, and another pouch filled with what looked to be flares of some kind. "Sure would have been nice to have some idea of what we're supposed to do with all this stuff," Cooper muttered.

"Someone will be by eventually, and then we'll know," Dante offered. "With that big gun in the tower and all these mines, maybe we should be checking the edges of town to see where the attacks are likely to come from. Someone is going to want to know where the best places are to put this stuff."

"You're more likely than me to know where the best places are going to be to put this stuff," Cooper observed, "but scouting the entrances to town seems like a good idea. You're the expert."

"Barely," Dante answered with a snort. "I may have Cayuse training, but we've both been through the same PMR basic training. We've got at least half a clue, right?"

"Half a clue is better than none I guess, and maybe we can save some footwork for whoever shows up to use this stuff."

It was late afternoon when Huck led the group out of the low hills and into the flatter terrain surrounding Moro. It wasn't so late in the day that the setting sun was making silhouettes of the buildings in front of them, but they were riding mostly south-southwest, and the setting sun on their right shoulders did bring some glare. It wasn't the kind of disadvantage Huck was usually willing to put up with. If the situation were different, he'd have circled around the town to come in with the sun at his back.

Huck stopped his horse's slow walk towards the small ghost town and sat there regarding the distant cluster of low buildings.

"Not getting worried are you?" came Sam Kendall's voice from behind him.

"Something about just riding in there doesn't feel right," Huck said, "but I can't pin down why I feel that way."

"Its good to trust your instincts," Carlos said as he came up on the other side of him, "but you don't always know how to translate what those feelings are saying to you."

"Your instincts are telling you there's someone there," Sam added. "They're waiting for us, its okay."

As the group slowly gathered together at the outskirts of the town, John Cantor got their attention. "I haven't seen anything on our back trail, but I'm feeling kinda twitchy. I think there's someone following us, just enough to track us, but not keep us in sight."